Whoops
by Clockwork Spades
Summary: Professor Kirkland bumps into a young American lad at a bar. Mistakes are made, embarrassment follows in the lecture hall the next day. For the usuksummerexchange on tumblr


Arthur was not looking forward to that start of the year.

That was to say, the academic year.

Arthur was a professor, a good one at that, no one missed his history lectures and that wasn't just because he may have been the scariest teacher on campus. Ordinarily he quite liked his job, having enthusiastic students who actually valued his opinion was a nice plus to the profession, it just happened that he hated the first few weeks of term.

New students who got lost or ended up late to his lectures, sloppy essays from the ones who hadn't made the transition from A-Level to university standard, not to mention the new flood of study abroad students. He had nothing against other countries, he had nothing against other people, he had something against obnoxious twenty-somethings who thought they could get away with either trying to fool the English teachers into saying something stupid or could coast off their work because their current lecturers weren't their 'real teachers' – and there was always at least one in his class.

That thought made him grumble as he downed another gin and tonic – a boring drink, he'd been told, but he couldn't go for anything stronger when he had more preparation to do for Monday. Being inebriated past Saturday wouldn't help him organise himself for the start of term and he needed nerves of steel to terrify all of the new students into not disobeying him. Fun.

This wasn't really entertaining him, however, he was scowling as he watched the bartender mix his fourth drink and angrily muttering under his breath about these hypothetical students with 'no respect for their subject'. He'd also been told that that was an odd habit and made people think he was weird, but considering the only other person near him seemed enthralled in a deep conversation about the underground tube with the other bartender, he doubted anyone cared.

The bar wasn't a crowded place, a little more modern than Arthur's preferred pubs, but he couldn't be bothered to stray far from the university dives that evening. He tended to steer clear of the bars in the immediate vicinity of the buildings, too many students knocking back pints, but considering the term hadn't started yet he found no issue in settling for the favourite bar of his last third year class.

"It's real tiny, I just don't get why they didn't make it any bigger."

Ah, American. Of course.

Arthur glanced over to the lad beside him, a young thing with a bright, wide smile and far too much energy for ten o'clock at night who was still wittering on about the tube stations.

He scoffed, muttering around the rim of his glass. "It _was_ built in Victorian times." Arthur didn't often butt in on other people's conversations, but his mind was already a little fuzzy from the alcohol and the other man's loud voice was causing him grief.

The American lad turned to face him, blinking in surprise that he'd been interrupted, but he didn't look at all deterred. Perhaps he hadn't noticed the bartender scuttling off once they'd been freed from the conversation.

"Well I know that, I ain't that dumb. I just don't get why you guys haven't expanded them or something, London's a real busy place." He shrugged, still smiling, which made Arthur's eyebrow rise.

He hadn't been expecting a serious answer, not one with practicality at least, he was used to being ridiculed for not being as 'advanced' as the Americans across the pond, not offered a serious question. Arthur put his glass down, arms folded on the countertop.

"I'd argue it would ruin a perfectly preserved Victorian relic. The trains have been updated and some of the decorations replaced, but it's one of the last remaining displays of British innovation that's still widely used today." He shrugged a little, happy to think he'd finished talking as he turned back to his drink.

The American did not. "Okay, I get the whole, 'if it's not broke, don't fix it' thing-" Arthur tried not to wince at the poor grammar; what was it with young adults today? "-But, for example, in Washington the metro's got a lotta space and the trains can fit maybe twice the amount of people. Washington isn't even as busy as London on a good day; I just don't see why you wouldn't change it for practicality reasons."

Arthur wasn't really in the mood for such a serious conversation, even if the appearance of the lad in his company had far more effectively achieved distraction from his sorrows than drinking alone had, he didn't have the energy to keep up with the other.

"—Sure." He eventually shrugged, taking a long sip of his drink.

The American laughed, seeming pleased with himself as he took a drink of his own beverage. (It looked like a soft drink, Arthur couldn't tell if there was something in there besides coke or if the lad was just happy in a bar with no alcohol.).

"You seem like you're a hoot at parties." Arthur was surprised by the sarcasm; the man looked like he suited a far more blunt humour than that. He didn't even have the thought to be insulted he was so impressed.

"Aren't you a little young to know what a party looks like?" He took another sip of his drink, eyes trained on the American.

"I look younger than I am. It's a blessing and a curse." The lad grinned, though Arthur doubted he was much older than twenty one – at best. "…I'm Alfred." He said after a pause, surprising Arthur with the intention to keep talking.

"I didn't ask." He responded, looking away again as if disinterested – which he was trying to be. And failing.

But Alfred laughed again, shrugging and taking a long gulp of his drink. "I'm ahead of the game like that." Arthur rolled his eyes, downing the rest of his drink as if that would put the other off, but instead the lad just kept looking at him. He turned his head to face him again, eyebrow raised in question at the focused stare he was receiving, but Alfred just shrugged and twirled his glass. "I thought it was polite to introduce yourself after someone else has given their name."

Arthur didn't look any more impressed. "That's only if you're asking for the name. I didn't ask for your name, I don't have to give mine. You didn't ask for my name, you're sitting there expecting me to tell you like you've won it or something and I can assure you knowing my name is no prize."

Alfred continued to look at him, something different in his eyes from before, his smile changing in a way that made Arthur either want to lean away or lean closer.

"I think it probably is."

"Then you have a very strange way of thinking." All of Arthur's words were short, not dismissive of the younger but obviously showing some kind of aloofness.

The corner of Alfred's lips quirked up, something entertaining him that Arthur couldn't see. It was quiet for a few moments, just the sounds of other people's conversations around the bar as Arthur swirled the melting ice around his glass.

"How about I buy you another drink?"

Arthur's eyebrows rose, looking at the other disapprovingly and almost disbelievingly for a moment.

"—I've had enough to drink already."

"Then why don't you buy me another drink?" The young man was quick off the mark, charming smile still in place and just a little bit closer to Arthur than he'd originally thought.

He was attractive, Arthur couldn't now deny that. He'd been ignoring it all evening on account of the fact he looked nearly ten years younger than him, but the honey blond hair and bright blue eyes were impossible to forget about even if Arthur could pretend not to notice how toned his biceps were. Not to mention that classic American charm he had that Arthur hated to admit he found appealing.

But he didn't say any of that; instead he turned to face the younger man more directly with a patronising expression on his face. "Aren't I a little old for you?"

Alfred's grin widened, a shrug following as he very obviously traced his eyes down Arthur's body. "I don't mind."

Arthur felt his body heat up under Alfred's gaze and only felt ridiculous for doing so when his clothes were so conservative – there was nothing sexy about a tweed jacket, but somehow Alfred made it look like there was. He refused to be one upped by a man so much younger than himself.

He held Alfred's stare, a small smirk of his own growing on his face. "I didn't ask if you were alright with that, I just doubt that someone so young is any good."

"I'm eager to learn." Alfred smirked back, leaning in close enough that he could drop his voice low.

* * *

Arthur thanked God that his flat was nearby.

He'd barely locked the door before Alfred was on him, only just managing to take a quick gasp of breath. He felt himself being pressed to the door and a pair of eager hands curving down and squeezing his rear, but he wasn't about to complain – not that he could with Alfred's tongue in his mouth. Alfred mumbled a question of where the bedroom was and Arthur directed as best he could without breaking the kiss. But as soon as Alfred got the hang of it he was scooped up by those strong American arms, his own winding around Alfred's shoulders with hands in his hair, guiding and tugging the kiss despite the fact Alfred was attempting to navigate his apartment.

They dropped onto Arthur's bed with no particular grace, but neither of them cared as their hands were suddenly free to travel and explore all they wanted. It was hard to tell whose hands were whose in the desperation of it all, if not for the fact neither's left the other's body. Arthur's hands pushed up the back of Alfred's shirt, pulling him closer in the same moment that Alfred ground down. Arthur wasn't nearly turned on so much yet but he moaned softly and bucked up against Alfred's prominent arousal. The joys of being young.

He made a comment under his breath about the lad being eager, but Alfred bit back with the fact Arthur clearly wanted it inside him and that shut him up just as quickly.

Alfred was fast in many other ways as well, Arthur hadn't even noticed that his shirt was unbuttoned until Alfred tired pushing it off his shoulders along with his jacket – which Arthur had to stop him doing because it just wasn't going to come off without him sitting up. Alfred complained but sat up to give Arthur the room to move and took off his own – either to keep his hands busy or to keep things even.

Arthur was right to pay attention to those biceps, they weren't the only thing so nicely toned about Alfred, but he only got a moment to reach out and run his hands down Alfred's chest before the American tugged him up into his lap and started kissing his neck. Arthur rocked his hips down, earning him a groan from Alfred and a slightly harsh bite that would sure leave a mark on his shoulder, but he'd moaned when Alfred acted and Alfred took that as an invitation to draw bites all across Arthur's neck and shoulders – though he was sensible enough to keep them below the collar line.

Eventually Arthur was on his back again, Alfred every bit as impatient as he looked as he practically ripped the rest of Arthur's clothes off. His hands curved around the Englishman's rear again, fingers pressing and rubbing at his entrance teasingly as he ground down, which made Arthur arch up, but it was only when he moaned that Alfred pulled back to ask where the lube was.

Alfred eased up while preparing Arthur, though the heat was still there in the kisses he couldn't seem to go three minutes without, he was slow and thorough. So much so that he almost refused to go any further until Arthur was a panting mess under him, much to the latter's irritation (or would've been if it hadn't felt so damned good.).

With prep done, they both shifted, Alfred groaning in annoyance when he remembered he hadn't put a condom on, but Arthur made that up to him by grabbing it for him and kissing his neck whilst the younger dealt with putting it on. Alfred's own trousers were still on, but he didn't have the patience to do more than shove them down his hips enough before he settled in place. He waited for a nod, which he got along with an impatient complaint and Arthur's hips arching up, before he slowly pushed inside.

Both men groaned, harmony in the otherwise quiet room and Alfred stopped when he was all the way inside, waiting once again to be told it was okay to move. Which again he got, this time with an accidental moan as Arthur bucking his hips to urge the other on just brought him deeper, and Alfred needed no further direction to continue.

Alfred was far better than Arthur had given him credit for; he paid attention to Arthur's direction and even had the audacity to keep enough of a level head to mutter dirty things in his partner's ear the whole time.

Alfred fell to the side when they finished, both trying to catch their breath for a few long moments. Until Alfred made a snide comment about being good enough, which Arthur responded to with a slap on the younger's arm. But it was good, _oh,_ Alfred was good. So good in fact that when the American started kissing his neck again Arthur let him turn him over and have his way for a second time.

* * *

Maybe Alfred shouldn't have been thinking about his one-night stand from two days ago, but the kick off to the end of the week had given him new energy for Monday. He did feel bad though for leaving before the other man woke up (and _still_ not getting his name) but he hoped the little sticky-note he'd left on the guy's kettle in way of an apology and his number was good enough consolation for him disappearing.

He couldn't help leaving early, though, he still had a lot of work to do before Monday morning – he was an engineering student, aerospace engineering to be exact, though he had decided to take a few credits in modern history on a whim, hence the extra studying over the weekend. He'd been told by his British guide (he was an exchange student, doing his year abroad in a London uni before going back to the States) to be prepared for his history professor; apparently the guy was a piece of work.

But Alfred wasn't worried, he'd arrived relatively early – along with a few others who were kind enough to give him an extra rundown of the professor – and had himself prepared. He was ready for whatever this professor Kirkland had to throw at him.

The man in question turned up at ten o'clock on the dot, though Alfred's head was on his laptop at the time so it was only when that crisp, sharp voice reached his ears that he finally looked up.

"Good morning."

Alfred felt colour rising to his cheeks as he watched the man cross to his desk.

"For those of you who don't know already, my name is Arthur Kirkland. If I like you, you may call me Mr Kirkland; if I don't, it's sir." He was only occasionally glancing up, for the most part taking things out of the briefcase he'd put down on his desk. "And if any of you even think about calling me Arthur I'll slice your grades in half for the first part of the semester."

Alfred was barely listening, his eyes wide and face red as he stared at the man he'd unmistakeably fucked – _twice_ – not two days ago. He could remember flirting with him at the bar, he could remember pinning him against the wall, he could remember all the dirty things he'd said – He'd given him his _number_.

It was one thing to have a crush on your teacher; it was another to fuck them before the term even began.

"Shit—"

He muttered involuntarily, and apparently louder than he thought because suddenly a dozen pairs of worried eyes turned in his direction. Including the cold, hard gaze of Mr Kirkland.

At least, it was cold for a moment, in ten seconds Arthur was stood with almost exactly the same expression Alfred had been holding the moment prior. But no one was looking Mr Kirkland's way, just at the American exchange partner.

"—Is there a problem, Mr Jones?" Arthur thanked the lord that his voice came out even, though he had to steel himself as those dozen pair of eyes turned, confused, to him instead as he'd picked out a student's name that he'd apparently never met before. Only Arthur had, but he couldn't tell the class that he knew the man's last name off the register because he'd been moaning the first name just nights before. _Shit_ , indeed.

"N—Uh, no, not at all, professor, uh, sir." Oh God.

Arthur stared at him a moment longer, trying to glare though the both of them were exchanging the same 'I fucked up' look.

 _Whoops_.

Arthur turned his back to the group so he could write on the board, hiding his face from the class. "As Mr Jones has demonstrated so kindly, I do not accept foul language in my classes either—"

Alfred sank lower in his seat, face redder than ever as his mind so kindly commented that Arthur didn't seem to mind swearing on Friday night.

At least now he knew his name.

* * *

 _For nakayylah in the usuksummerexchange on tumblr_


End file.
